


The Beginner's Guide to Mixed Drinks

by Moorishflower



Series: Fifty AUs [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it turns out, Sam Winchester's favorite cocktail is the Screaming Orgasm. Who knew? For the prompt "SPN bartending AU (any pairing)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginner's Guide to Mixed Drinks

Most of the time when Gabriel thinks of dancers, his mental image tends towards the more…exotic. Beauties with bright blue eyes and long, shapely limbs, girls with perfect curls and men with rakish good looks and the sort of stubble that always looks artful and intentional…and possibly an accent. He always thinks Russian, but any other works just as fine. The point is, _exotic_. Different. Even in the heart of New York City, people always want something new and exciting. Which is why Gabriel was happy when Ellen told him they'd be getting a new dancer. A new pair of legs means more people buying drinks, which, in turn, means more cash in Gabriel's pocket.

And he had been expecting different. Not six feet and four inches of hulking, corn-fed Midwesterner.

Sam Winchester is new in town. Gabriel doesn't have to ask him - or even talk to him - to be able to tell that. He moves with this sort of cautious grace, like he doesn't want to bump into anyone. He's probably used to moving like that anyways, considering his size, but it means that he hasn't been in New York long enough to learn that no one gives a fuck how big he is, he'll either move out of their way or get run over. It's endearing. _Sweet_ , and Gabriel rarely uses that word to describe anything other than candy or cocktails.

Which is why he starts making Sam drinks.

 _Technically_ he's not supposed to. Drinking on the job when you're the bartender is one of those things that can get you fired without your boss ever hearing your explanation, but there's no such rule for dancers, so long as the register doesn't come up short at the end of the night. Gabriel pays for the drinks out of his own pocket, and Sam only ever drinks a little, so it's not like it's costing him a fortune. Besides, Sam dances better once he's loosened up a bit. He's not your typical fare, but ladies' nights become absolutely _huge_ when he's on the clock, and Ellen doesn't say a word. Whether it's because they're raking in the dough or because she senses that Gabriel's intentions are honorable, he doesn't know. He's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It's a Thursday when Sam refuses to take the drink Gabriel has made him. That's never happened before, and Gabriel frowns at Sam, and then at the cocktail he's made. He'd tried the combination on a whim (Amaretto, apple juice, and Cinnamon Schnapps), only to find that it tasted almost like apple pie. He wonders if Sam doesn't like apple juice. Or maybe he doesn't like Schnapps. There are people out there who don't.

Except Sam isn't looking at the glass, he's looking at Gabriel. A sort of considering look, with his lips pressed tight together and the strobe lights flickering over his face, making him look strange and otherworldly. Gabriel makes a halfhearted attempt to take the glass back, but Sam reaches over the bar and grabs his wrist. Doesn't let go.

“You're always giving me stuff,” he says, loudly, and even so Gabriel can barely hear him over the music. “I don't even know your name!”

“We work together,” Gabriel calls back. “You don't need to know it.” It's safer that way, he thinks. No risk of getting attached if Sam doesn't know him as anything other than the friendly bartender. That's how most of the world sees him, anyways.

Except Sam is smiling at him. He still hasn't let go of Gabriel's wrist.

“I'm Sam Winchester.”

“I know,” Gabriel says, and Sam cocks his head.

“And you're…?”

Christ wept, the guy's got eyes like a fucking golden retriever, all huge and liquid looking. Hazel colored, too. Gabriel's a sucker for hazel eyes. He looks away, but not before he feels something in his chest lurch a little bit. Attraction. No, worse than that. _Affection_. The kid's a sweetheart, with all the world and all the time in it ahead of him, and Gabriel's just some aging, washed up bartender who dropped out of law school when things got too tough. Sam ought to go flirt with the other dancers. Gabriel knows that Balthazar is handsome, perpetually single, and willing to fuck most anything with a heartbeat.

On second thought, maybe Gabriel ought to save Sam from that awful fate. God only knows what kinds of diseases Balthazar has, and if Sam isn't looking for a one-night stand…

“It's Gabriel, okay?” He pushes the glass forward again, and finally, _finally_ , Sam takes it. “Call me Gabriel.”

He tells himself that he's doing Sam a favor by smiling at him. After all, it's him or Balthazar, and neither of them (he assumes) want _that_.

It's harder to lie to himself, though, when Sam smiles back, and Gabriel's stomach begins to twist itself into knots.


End file.
